Free to Trade by Michael Ridpath Page A

when he was making money, and I had learned to avoid him when he wasn't. I am afraid to say I often found his romantic tussles amusing, there was always a new crisis to hear about.
    Rob ignored my expression. 'I've always been fascinated by junk bonds. It sounds as though it will be an interesting meeting. Do you mind if I join?'
    I laughed. 'No, of course not. It's at three o'clock. Plenty of time to get to the flower shop across the road.'
    Rob scowled at that, but couldn't prevent his scowl spreading into a grin as he walked away. I was looking forward to the meeting. Partly I was eager to be getting my teeth into some credit analysis again. Partly I was curious to see the woman who had aroused so much interest in Rob.

    They arrived at three on the dot. It was difficult to imagine two more different people. Cash led the way, bustling his short, slightly overweight frame through the door of the conference room and bellowing hallos in his hoarse, loud Brooklyn voice. Cash Callaghan, originally Charles Callaghan, had established a reputation in New York that he had built upon since he had moved to London. He was the 'top producer' in Bloomfield Weiss, meaning he sold more bonds than any of the other hundred or so salesmen at the firm. His life style matched this success. The name 'Cash' reflected the large amounts of cash he earned, and the large amounts he so obviously spent. If ever anyone was larger than life, it was he. His personality seemed to fill any room he was in. His good humour and his throaty chuckle drew people towards him. He made you feel that you were a special friend of his, and that it was an honour to be a friend of someone so popular, who had so many other friends who were not quite as important to him as you. You wanted to please him, show him you appreciated his friendship. You did business with him.
    Everyone felt this pull, myself included. I did my best to fight it. I didn't trust him. Partly it was because his small, blue piggy eyes seemed totally detached from his wide grin and bright white teeth. When he and everyone around him were smiling and laughing, those hard little eyes would be darting around, weighing up those around him, looking for opportunities to make the sale. Partly it was because I had suspected him of trying to pull one over on me once or twice. No doubt he succeeded with other clients, and no doubt they were still drawn back to doing business with him.
    Behind this rush of energy came Cathy. She was tall and walked into the room with an awkward, angular grace. Her dark hair was tied tightly back behind her neck. She wore a crisp white blouse under an expensive looking blue suit, with a delicate set of small pearl earrings. She had a figure designed to wear elegant clothes, slim with sharp edges. But I couldn't help noticing her eyes; large and brown, they carefully avoided contact with anyone in the room. I could see what Rob meant. She had a mixture of untouchable beauty and vulnerability that must have been giving him all sorts of problems.
    As we sat down, Cash began, 'Paul, I'd like you to meet my new colleague Cathy Lasenby. Cathy, this is Paul Murray, one of our more successful clients.' With this a broad grin in my direction. 'Rob, I believe you have met before.'
    Cathy gave us both a thin smile, barely twitching the corners of her mouth. I nodded to her, and Rob smiled inanely and mumbled something incomprehensible in her direction.
    'It's not many of our customers who are able to spot opportunities as good as the recent Swedish deal, and have the balls to make as much out of it as Paul here did,' Cash continued.
    'Even the foolhardy get it right sometimes,' I said. 'There was that other customer, the American who bought fifty million. He must have made good money. I wonder who that was.'
    'Oh that was a small savings and loan from Phoenix, Arizona,' Cathy answered. She had a clear, throaty, slightly haughty voice, betraying an expensive education. I have a weakness for